


Pills

by InsideMyBrain



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Human, Antonio Is A Pill Popper, Drug Use, Drugs, Human Names Used, M/M, Netherlands and Belgium Aren't Related, Police Officer Belgium, Police Officer Spain, domestic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsideMyBrain/pseuds/InsideMyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio’s life is perfect. He loves his husband Lovino, their two children, and his job as a police officer in the city of Madrid. But why is he a member of a singles’ club? And why is he taking so many pills?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pills

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Netherlands and Belgium aren’t related.

The art gallery was busy that night, full of men and women dressed their best and drinking red wine. Antonio was no different, wearing a sharply pressed suit and his nicest tie. His smile came often and with ease as he wandered around, pretending to care about the works of art on display. What he was really here for was the people.

Men or women, he wasn’t picky. He was looking for a badge that marked a person as a member of the Looking For Love Club, his own badge glinting in the dim lights. Spotting a badge attached to the chest of an attractive blond man, Antonio made his way through the crowd.

“Hi!” He greeted the man cheerfully. “I’m Antonio.”

“Lars,” The man said back, giving the slightest of smiles. It was very, very slight. almost like it was difficult for him to smile. HIs hair was slicked so that it stood straight up, and his green eyes glinted with a hard stare. He was tall, muscular, and extremely good-looking.

“Do you enjoy art?” Antonio asked, gesturing at the painting behind him. Lars turned to look at it. It was modern, colour-blocked and saturated. 

“I know absolutely nothing about it,” Lars replied. 

Antonio chortled. “Me too. It is nice, though, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

“Do I hear you gentlemen discussing the Jones piece?” 

Antonio turned to see one of the workers at the art gallery. He was smiling amicably, holding notecards. “Would you like to hear more about it?”

“Sure.” Shrugged Antonio.

“Alfred F. Jones is an American artist, born in Washington in 1991.” He began. Lars was listening attentively, looking at the speaker, however Antonio preferred to look at Lars. “He created this piece last year while visiting Hamburg. You’ll notice the use of cold colours and very similar value. Some think this piece represents his sense of detachment to-”

“I’m going to have to stop you right there,” Antonio interrupted, “Is there a spot in this gallery where you can sit and talk quietly?”

“The lounge is just down the stairs there.” The worker informed him, seeming a bit miffed. With a nod, he walked stiffly away.

“Would you like to go there and talk?” Antonio grinned at Lars. 

“Why not,” Lars agreed, and turned away towards the stairs. Antonio followed giddily.

They sat in the lounge for the rest of the evening, just chatting. They didn’t talk about anything of importance. Technically, it was their first date, and one did not impose too serious questions on the first date.

By the time the art gallery was closing, Antonio felt he could ask Lars to take him home. 

“So,” He spoke up, as the people around them started getting up to leave, “This has been fun.” 

“It was nice meeting you, Antonio.” Lars said emotionlessly, but his eyes reflected interest. 

“I was wondering if we could get to know each other a bit more.” Antonio pushed, licking his lips.

“It’s late.” Lars countered. “Won’t you be tired?” 

“As long as I get three to four hours.” Antonio shrugged.

“How? I need at least seven.” Lars was mildly surprised.

“I take drugs.”

Lars laughed, which surprised Antonio into laughing too. Perhaps it was the wine, but Lars didn’t seem like the type of man who laughed often. “All right. Whoever’s house is closer.” 

“It’ll have to be yours, then.” Antonio smiled easily. 

“How do you know?” Asked Lars. 

“I don’t live in Madrid.” He answered, leading the way to the art gallery’s exit.

“Really…” Lars mumbled, but followed Antonio anyway.

It was very, very late by the time Antonio got home. The gallery had closed at eleven thirty, and it was four in the morning by the time Antonio felt it was safe to sneak out of Lars’ home. It was four thirty by the time he was creeping through his house, trying not to wake his husband and children. 

Having successfully made it into the bedroom without waking anyone, Antonio sat down on the bed with a sigh. He wasn’t tired in the least, despite his lack of sleep. Luckily, he had something that would fix that. 

It must have been the sound of his dresser drawer opening that woke Lovino, or maybe it was the rattling of the bottle of pills. Whatever it was, Antonio heard shifting from the other side of the bed, and then, “Welcome home, shit-face.”

He turned to face his husband, smiling like he always did. “Good morning Lovinito.” 

“How was the art gallery?” Lovino asked. His dark brown hair was messy and his curl was tangled. HIs green eyes were tired, and there were bags under them.

“Good. I met a man named Lars.” Antonio told him. When Lovino didn’t respond, he kept talking. “He has a nice apartment. Likes biking.”

“Can the bastard help?” Lovino sat up fully.

“No, I don’t think so.” Antonio popped a pill in his mouth, drank some water, and swallowed. “I’m not giving up yet. Not after six years.” 

“Go the fuck to sleep.” Lovino replied, rolling over. His voice, even with the swear, was soft and comforting to Antonio. He lay down, kissed Lovino’s cheek, and rolled over. Within minutes, he was asleep. 

He woke at six, when his alarm went off. Lovino’s side of the bed was empty, so he wandered into the kitchen. No one was there, so he made himself coffee.

Hearing voices from the living room, Antonio entered the room to see Lovino sitting on the couch with their children. Adriana and Sofia, seven and nine years old. They were watching some morning cartoons before school, laughing at the animated character’s latest antics. Antonio smiled at the sight, not the fake smile he’d been flashing at Lars all night, but a genuinely happy one. It soon faded to a wistful smile, so he turned away.

“Morning, daddy!” His youngest, Adriana, called. He turned back.

“Good morning, Addie.” He leaned down and scooped her up in his arms, even though she was getting a little big for that. “Are you hungry? Should I make something?”

“I already gave them some Cheerios,” Lovino said from the couch. He was wearing his usual dark blue dress shirt and black pants. The same clothes he wore that day six years ago.

“How’s your cartoon?” Antonio asked his daughter. She giggled and squirmed in his arms. 

“It’s so so funny! The coyote keeps trying to catch the, the, uh, the roadrunner but he’s too f-fast and too smart. The coyote is dumb!” She laughed again and wriggled out of his arms. 

Sofia got up from the couch and grabbed her sister’s hand. The two of them skipped out of the room, talking and giggling.

“You’re going to be late,” Said Lovino.

“You’re right.” Antonio scrubbed his face with his hands. His limbs still felt heavy and his eyelids drooped. He took another sip of his coffee. 

“I always am, bastardo.” Lovino smirked for a moment, then let his face return to his usual grumpy glare. 

Antonio finished his coffee, gave his husband a quick kiss, then left the kitchen. He dressed quickly and brushed his teeth before grabbing his bag and running out to the car. 

He sat in his car for a moment before driving off. His car was a silver minivan, suitable for a man with a family, like him. He pulled out the drawer in the passenger seat and took out a plastic bag filled with little white tablets. He took out three and swallowed them. 

He then started up his car and drove off.

Antonio’s day at work was interesting, to say the least. He was assigned a new case and partner, a woman from Belgium named Emma. She was pretty and very smart, but a little controlling and bossy when it came to investigations. 

He arrived home late, though not as late as the night previously. The girls were in bed, Lovino was in the living room, watching TV. Antonio sat down beside him and kissed him in greeting. They were silent after that, hearing the noises of the television but not really listening. 

“I got a new partner at work today,” Antonio told Lovino. He turned his head from the TV and looked at Antonio. “Her name is Emma. I think she could help us.”

“Ask her, then,” Lovino responded. 

“I will.” Antonio kissed his husband again, then looked back at the TV.

That was the end of their conversation for the night. After a few hours, Lovino got up and walked into the bedroom, walking slowly and mechanically. Antonio stayed on the couch for a little while after, then walked to the bedroom himself. 

Lovino was in bed when he entered the room. The covers rose and fell steadily with his breathing. Antonio stripped down and sat on the end of the bed. He opened his dresser drawer and took out the bottle of pills again. He unscrewed the cap and shook a few out into his palm, then paused. 

“I know you think I should stop,” Antonio said quietly, not turning around to look at his husband. He knew Lovino was asleep, but he also knew he couldn’t be. Whether he heard him or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was Antonio saying it. “But I can’t. You understand that, right? I can’t cope without them.”

Lovino said nothing. Antonio suddenly felt chillingly alone, much more alone than he’d felt in years. He tasted salt, and wiped his eyes. There was no need to cry. Lovino was right here in the bed beside him. His children were in their own room down the hall. He wasn’t alone at all.

Antonio sniffed, then gulped a pill down. He lay down, pulled the covers over him, and snuggled up to Lovino. He fell asleep right away. 

The next few days seemed to drag by for Antonio. Work was stressful, his family seemed distant. He could sense Lovino was angry with him; not his regular annoyed mood, but a throbbing, fiery anger that bubbled and brewed just below the surface of his perpetual glare. He called him pet names like ‘fucknut’ and ‘tomato bastard’ but the fondness in his voice was gone. He felt those glaring green eyes on him everywhere, and as a result he was constantly glancing over his shoulder. He could hear Lovino’s voice inside his head, clear as if he was standing right in front of him:  _Flush those pills down the toilet and bring the case to Emma. You said she could fucking help, so ask her!_

Antonio took a week to work up the courage to ask Emma for help. Once he did, though, he realized he shouldn’t have waited so long.

“Hey Emma,” He asked her after the weekly meeting, “Can you do me a favour?”

“Depends,” She grinned. “What is it?”

“I want you to look over a case for me.” Antonio half-said, half-sighed.

“Is it ongoing?” She questioned. 

“No. It’s six years old.”

“If it’s six years old why are you asking me to take a look at it?”

“I thought you’d have a fresh perspective on it.”

“Well, all right. If I have time.”

“Thanks.” Antonio flashed her a smile. “I’ll leave it on your desk.”

Antonio was thoroughly relieved after he’d gotten it over with. He went home in a good mood.

Emma didn’t get around to looking at the file until a few days later. It was late, and everyone had left the office. Antonio was at home, relaxing on the couch with his husband. The only light on was the one at Emma’s cubicle. 

She sat with a contented sigh, pushing her blond hair behind her ear. Despite her pretty face, she had a brain, and she loved her job as a police officer.  She’d leaf through old cases on her own for fun, letting her brain work through it and spin scenarios until it was 2 AM and she needed to get some sleep. Her fingers twitched excitedly as she flipped open the case folder. 

At the exact moment she was opening it, Lovino asked about her.

“Has your partner looked at the goddamn case yet?”

Antonio smiled affectionately. “She said she would look at it today.” 

“It’s about time. Six fucking years, Antonio. It’s been six years and you’re still a mess.” He rolled his eyes. Antonio buried his face in Lovino’s dark blue dress shirt, trying to breathe in his familiar scent but smelling nothing. 

“I was always a mess.” Antonio breathed. “I was a mess for you.”

Emma opened the folder, slim fingers deftly pulling out the first paper on the stack. It was a profile of a handsome man, dark brown hair, green eyes, olive skin tone. He was frowning, and a stray curl stuck out from the middle of his head, falling to the left. 

“I love you, bastard.” Lovino shook his head, “But you’re too much of a mess.”

“Is that why?” Antonio asked, his voice catching in his throat. He sat up and stared at Lovino, tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

Emma read the paper quickly, eyes scanning the  _Lovino Vargas-Fernandez Carriedo_  captioning the photo. She moved on to the other papers, glancing at the photos and the names  _Adriana Vargas-Fernandez Carriedo_  and  _Sofia Vargas-Fernandez Carriedo._

“How should I know?” Lovino’s voice was hard and emotionless. “You don’t know, so I don’t know.”

“I wish I did. It would be so much easier.” The tears were dripping steadily down Antonio’s face now. “Not knowing what happened to you killed me. It kills me every day when I see you, always in those clothes you wore on that morning.” He clutched at the fabric of Lovino’s shirt to emphasize his point. 

Emma brought out the case summary with a flourish. Squinting in the dark, she began to read. 

_Antonio Fernandez Carriedo reported his husband and children missing on the morning of April 18th, 2010. He had arrived home from work at around 9:00 PM on April 17th to find Lovino Vargas-Fernandez Carriedo, Adriana Vargas-Fernandez Carriedo, and Sofia Vargas-Fernandez Carriedo gone. He tried calling Vargas-Fernandez Carriedo’s cell phone, but only got his voicemail. At 12:34 AM on April 18th, he reported them missing._

“I love you, Lovi.” Antonio was crying in earnest now, somehow leaning on his husband yet knowing, deep down, he wasn’t really there. He wasn’t sitting beside Antonio on the couch, and he probably never would again. Lovino’s arms were around him, his comforting voice was in his ear, except it wasn’t. Antonio cried harder and harder, because Lovino wasn’t there to comfort him. Only God knew where he was, if he was alive, even He might not know. The fact that Lovino, Sofia, and Adriana had been only figments of his imagination for the last six years made Antonio miserable.

“It’s all right,” Lovino whispered. Antonio’s head was in his lap, his tears flowing onto Lovino’s dress pants. They were staining the material, but Antonio knew the next morning the stains would be gone.

“You’re not real.” Antonio sniffled.

“I’m the closest thing you have to the real Lovino Vargas-Fernandez Carriedo.” Lovino kissed the top of his head, then shifted his head off his lap. He left the room.

Antonio started crying again, because even though it felt like his head had just thumped onto the couch cushion, he knew it’d been lying there all along.


End file.
